To Make Mortal
by L. VanDattae
Summary: Fuuma finds himself in the unique position of having to talk an amethyst-eyed god out of eating him…


**Warnings:** Shounen-ai! I think the genre speaks for itself…

**Disclaimer: **All characters are copyright of CLAMP. No monetary profit is being made from the writing or distribution of this fic.

**Notes:** This is dedicated to Schnickledooger, and is based on her story, Addicted to You, though it can be read individually without having read that fic. (In chronological order, the fics are 1) Repercussions, 2) Addicted to You (by Schnickledooger), 3) To Make Mortal, 4) Syzygial Chaos (by Schnickledooger). However, they weren't written in that order, and I'd personally recommend reading Schnick's _Addicted To You_ before my _Repercussions _and then her _Syzygial Chaos_ before my _To Make Mortal_, because if you read this first it'll spoil things in Syzygial Chaos)

**To Make Mortal**

Fuuma had been to more worlds, traipsing through more kinds of terrain, encountering more kinds of insects and wildlife (and therefore, unfortunately, experiencing more kinds of bites, rashes, and contagious diseases) than he cared to count. After the fourteenth poisonous plant Yuuko had FAILED to warn him about, he had taken to memorizing lists of dangerous flora and fauna out of sheer desperation. In his line of work, it never hurt to be prepared.

So as he pushed through the long grass along the beach of a small, out-of-the-way world looking for a jeweled accessory of all things, he wasn't expecting (but certainly not surprised by) the sudden sharp pain of teeth being buried in his knee. Looking down, he found none other than what appeared to be a raven-haired, diminutive heathen lock-jawed to his leg like a piranha. When similar pain stabbed through his lower arm, he was vaguely worried to find yet another one fastened there in like manner, but when this was followed yet again by a particularly vicious bite in the butt, he yelped and desperately tried to start pulling them off…

Then several more pairs of amethyst eyes popped out of the long grass beside him, grinning in a way that gave him a good view of hundreds of very sharp, very dangerous-looking teeth.

Fuuma wasn't stupid.

He ran.

* * *

No more than an hour later, Fuuma hung awkwardly by his wrists and ankles upside down from a pole and contemplated how he'd gotten into such a situation. He swore he was going to have a talk with the Dimensional Witch about briefing him on his missions when all this was over. Really, he thought, tugging ineffectually at his bindings, was it too much to ask for an advance warning about the dimension he was visiting? Possible perils? Ancient customs? Heck, even a friendly "Beware of the locals" would have been helpful.

Unfortunately, the dialect used by the heathen tribe of amethyst-eyed natives must have been too ancient or too primitive to translate properly, and the few words he had been able to make out were not the most reassuring: things like "food" and "sacrifice" and "god."

He wasn't even entirely sure where they had taken him. A large cavern, he thought, by the chill and the vague light filtering in from the distant entrance, though the floor looked worn smooth. A raised platform along the back wall topped by a large, stone chair made the whole place vaguely resemble a throne room.

For a few minutes he struggled futilely with the knots binding him to the pole. If they were going to sacrifice him, they could at least get it over with quickly, he thought testily. It was unpleasant, left alone to face his fate in that empty, echoing room.

But sunset turned into twilight, dusting the world in shades of periwinkle, and then into abyssal blue—the same shade saturating the depth that crushes the life out of living things. Without a skylight, the darkness pressed in on every side, thick and cloying. Fuuma sneezed, shivering. The night was cold. Of course, it wouldn't have been so bad if a certain tribe of locals hadn't stripped him down to his undergarments and painted strange symbols across his chest and face and… other places he didn't want to think about. He wrinkled his nose. The paint itched.

A sudden, sharp howl tore him from his thoughts, and he twisted awkwardly, trying to look out towards the chamber's mouth. It was too dark to see anything, but soon the sound came again.

"Wolves?" Or worse…

"They won't come in…" a voice replied, and the pole shook a little as Fuuma jerked around to stare at the boy who had suddenly appeared all sprawled contemptuously in the huge, stone chair as though the very air had condensed into the amethyst-eyed apparition eyeing him disdainfully. "They know what doesn't belong to them…"

Fuuma stared, incredulous, taking in the all-too-familiar features he'd thought he'd never see again. Even if the world was a bit skewed from an upside down perspective, he'd never forget that face.

"Kamui?" Fuuma asked at last. Maybe this sacrifice thing wouldn't be so bad after all...

Those amethyst eyes flew wide in surprise, and the little god straightened where he sat.

"A mortal knows my name…" The words were breathed between slightly parted lips, amplified by the acoustics of the chamber.

"Wait…" Fuuma shook off the pleasant surprise of meeting another Kamui enough to think logically. "You're the god? _You're_ the god?" He'd fantasized over all the ways he might meet Kamui again on his travels, of course. He'd thought of accidentally bumping into the vampire on a deserted beach or maybe while he was busy finding one of Yuuko's treasures in a dark cave. But of all the ways that had come to mind, he'd never thought he'd be offered up as a sacrifice to Kamui, tethered naked to a pole.

Of course, he'd never expected to see Kamui in nothing but gold armbands and a silk loin cloth either. Disregarding the bracelets that hung from one wrist and the wooden beads threaded with locks of raven hair that accented either side of his unearthly pale face. Still, somehow it was all pulled off rather well.

Kamui considered him, head tilted just a bit to one side.

"You don't look much like a local. How intriguing… I don't think I've eaten someone from another world before…"

Eaten? Fuuma had a feeling he should have been more worried about that…

"Clearly you don't get out often enough," he grinned.

"Do you think it is so easy?" Kamui asked, amethyst eyes slanting down at him condescendingly. In one fluid motion, he stood up and hopped down to the smooth floor, bare feet less than a whisper along the cold stone.

"Aren't you a god?" Fuuma countered.

"Even gods are gods of rules." Kamui reached out and brushed the tips of his fingers down the length of Fuuma's arm curiously. "When we break these rules, we cease to be gods." It was said with a shrug that made the beads at each ear bob pleasingly.

"I see," Fuuma replied agreeably, not really interested, not to mention totally distracted by the fact that the little apparition had glided right up to his side and was just then crawling up onto his chest, squirming into the gap between him and the pole. Said pole creaked as it took the extra weight, and Fuuma stifled a hiss at the strain on his wrists, still bound by coarse cord. Then there was the shock of cold metal armbands against his bare skin and the tinkle of bracelets clacking together. Those amethyst eyes suddenly seemed huge in such close proximity, the pale skin luminous, dusting the world in shades of periwinkle.

Something hidden by the boy's hair caught Fuuma's attention—a jeweled, beetle clip he hadn't seen fastened to one ear. Exactly the thing he was looking for.

Fuuma smirked at this revelation. Well, well, maybe if he played it right, he could get the boy and the object of his journey both in one fell swoop.

"You must be tall when you stand up," Kamui marveled, wondering at how he could almost completely curl up just on the man's torso, only one bare foot hanging awkwardly over the edge of the man's side, just enough to sweep the floor with his toes if he stretched. Fuuma snorted.

"This, from a pygmy!"

Kamui glowered at him. "Do not antagonize me! I can make your death slow and painful, you know. In fact, just for that, I'm afraid I have to eat you now."

"I'm terrified." Fuuma smirked smugly up at him. "You're so tiny. You sure you won't have to divide me into smaller, more manageable segments first?"

"Oh, trust me, I can eat you whole." And before Fuuma could make any witty comeback, Kamui sealed the statement with a kiss fierce enough to leave Fuuma blinking in surprise. For one infinite second, something connected them—something that ran like a live-wire just under his skin, raising the fine hairs at the back of his neck in warning—and Kamui clung to him, drawing upon him deeply as if he could drink in Fuuma's very essence through that contact alone. There was death in that kiss, sucking at the inside of his skull. It occurred to him suddenly that there were many different ways of eating a person.

And he was beginning to feel distinctly disadvantaged, hanging upside down.

Using the ties at his wrists and ankles for leverage, Fuuma pulled himself up, pinning Kamui to the pole above and biting just hard enough to get him to let go. The beads in that raven hair jangled a surprised little staccato against either side of his face as the tables turned. Amethyst eyes stared down at him, wide and astonished.

"Kamui, how many people have you kissed exactly?" Fuuma asked suspiciously.

"Hundreds." The reply was totally unabashed. But something about the bright curiosity in those eyes made him ask again:

"And how many people have kissed you?" But the boy was already shaking his head, and as close as they were, Fuuma could feel that silky hair slide along his skin, the cold beads clack as they hung down between them, could feel the breath of the response even as it was whispered.

"No one."

Well, that wasn't so bad, and at least everyone else the boy had ever kissed was undoubtedly dead. It was somehow consoling. Fuuma smiled, softer this time.

"It's not so pleasant here alone. Why don't you let me keep you company a little longer, hm?" he suggested.

"Don't think you can get out of this that easily!" But that wasn't the same as a No, so he wasn't adverse to the idea either. A good sign.

"Surely, I don't intend to." Fuuma chuckled. "Who could resist being eaten by such a cute little thing like you?"

Kamui bit him back, just for good measure.

Fuuma turned it into another kiss until, finally, the little god reached up and slid slender fingers over the cords binding him to the pole, and all at once the knots loosened, spilling them both to the floor. Fuuma winced as blood rushed back into his hands and feet, and massaged the abused joints. Kamui didn't allow him much time to recover, however, throwing thin arms around his neck.

He gasped faintly when Fuuma flipped him over though.

Raven hair feathered across the hard stone. Kamui stared up at him in beautiful disarray, all periwinkle phosphorescence beneath his fingers.

"Should I bring you down to earth with me?" It came out more breathless than Fuuma intended, admiring the boy splayed out before him. But the question, meant more in jest, seemed to frighten the little god.

"Would you make me mortal?" For the first time there was a slight tremble behind the question, uncertainty in those expressive eyes.

"It's not so bad… being mortal," Fuuma whispered, brushing the pad of his thumb over the curve of one pale cheek. He couldn't quite understand why the boy was so afraid, but then maybe that was natural the first time. Reaching out, he ran one hand reassuringly through silken locks of hair, letting them filter through his fingers and tugged a bit teasingly on the strand of beads.

Kamui shuddered beneath him, so Fuuma kissed him into compliancy, feeling that one last shiver as the boy gave in. There was nothing to be afraid of after all.

Later, when he was absolutely sure Kamui was otherwise engaged, he reached up, biting the boy's ear, and carefully worked the jeweled clip free with teeth and tongue…

* * *

When Fuuma woke in the morning, the stone floor was cold against his bare skin, the warm body that had been curled against his side startlingly absent. Frowning, he opened his eyes, only to find Kamui crouched beside him, head cocked to one side, leering. The beautiful strands of beads that had been threaded through his hair now lay scattered and broken on the dirty floor.

"Kamui?" Fuuma asked, perplexed. There was something wrong about Kamui, something off. He couldn't quite put his finger on it. In the weak morning light filtering in from the entrance, that lovely skin no longer seemed so luminous and unearthly, but dull and definitely solid. There was something about the eyes too… something feral.

At his question, Kamui abruptly broke into cackling laughter, and it struck Fuuma suddenly what the boy reminded him of. The little heathen natives.

Suddenly worried, he reached out and grasped Kamui by the shoulders, shaking him.

"Kamui!" he called, a swiftly sinking sensation sweeping over him. "Kamui!"

"_Chuba stuupa!_" Kamui cackled in reply, head tilted back and lithe little body shaking with laughter. The words didn't translate, and Fuuma was pretty sure he didn't want to know. Kneeling there, staring at the little heathen that had replaced his beautiful Kamui, he was pretty sure he didn't want to know at all.

The beetle clip burned in his pocket.

And suddenly he was resolved. Keeping one hand fastened tight around Kamui's forearm while the scrawny little thing twisted and gnashed its teeth and shrieked obscenities in unintelligible dialects, he searched for his clothes.

After all, there was only one person capable of helping them…

* * *

"You have to deal with the consequences of your actions." Yuuko's response was sharp and uncompromising. Fuuma stood before her, knowing that if she wouldn't help them, no one else could, and he was not quite ready to give up so easily. There was a sudden, sharp tug on the rope Fuuma held in his hand, which he ignored.

"What about Kamui? Surely he doesn't want to be stuck permanently this way!"

"He's mortal now. He has to learn and grow and develop just like everyone else…" With an elegant shrug, she dismissed the notion.

Fuuma wanted to say something else, to argue, but teeth clamped down on his hand just then, and this time he turned, crouching down so that he was on the same level as the little heathen currently gnawing on his fingers.

"Oh, Kamui…" He stared into those insentient amethyst eyes and let those dull teeth chew on his hand until the little ruined god grew bored. Suddenly dealing with vampires seemed downright straightforward and simple. If only he'd been paying more attention. If only he hadn't been so sure no harm would come of it. But there was no helping it now. And he couldn't just leave Kamui behind to fend for himself in that world, not when it was his fault. Gathering those little arms and legs into his lap, he sighed. "How could I have been so stupid…"

* * *

**Author Note:** I don't really know much about Yuuko, having never read xxxHolic, and I have no idea if I got her personality right. Also, I know it's a sort of sad ending, but it was designed to fit into the gap between Schnickledooger's Addicted To You and the sequel, and ultimately we couldn't have Fuuma cheating on Kamui with Kamui, now could we? ^_~ I guess, if you want a happier ending, you'll have to read Syzygial Chaos, the sequel to Addicted to You!

"Chuba stuupa…" is Huttese (dictated by Schnick, as it is based on her fic). Supposedly, "chuba" is "you" and "stuupa" is equivalent to "fool," but I'm not sure that's the same as "you fool," which is what I was after. (It doesn't help that there are a dozen translations for "you")

Unfortunately, I don't know what Fuuma's translator is, seeing as how he clearly doesn't have a Mokona. But whatever it is, it's able to make out Kamui's speech, because "gods are gods of rules" and therefore Kamui's speech is structured. The beetle clip is just pretty jewelry; putting it back on wouldn't undo the damage.

As for whether or not he'll get his memories back... *contemplates* I'd like to say it's my belief that the memories aren't really 'gone,' just irrelevant. Like giving a flashlight to a cave man and watching him use it as a club. As a god, he had an instinctual knowledge of rules, why they're important, how to use them, etc. For instance, when you have a flashlight, you have to know that it's a) for giving light, and b) is turned on via a switch or button. What he's lost is the memory of those rules. He still has the flashlight. So then yes, I'd like to believe that if someone taught him how to turn it on and how to use it, he'd be coherent and civilized again. However, it completely depends on a certain author who happens to be writing the sequel... ^_~


End file.
